


once upon a time

by katarasvevo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Oops, They reunite, dreams and planets, klance bcs i love them, my hand slipped, soft moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarasvevo/pseuds/katarasvevo
Summary: It starts with once upon a time, as most fairytales do.Only, there is no heroic prince, no spindle, no glimmering castle. There is just Shiro and Adam. Adam and Shiro. Hopelessly, and madly, and stupidly in love.(Shiro will always long for the man who once called him home)





	once upon a time

**Author's Note:**

> What. Am. I. Doing. Here? 911, Help I'm Lost

☆☽

 

It starts with once upon a time, as most fairytales do.

Only, there is no heroic prince, no spindle, no glimmering castle. There is just Shiro and Adam. Adam and Shiro. Hopelessly, and madly, and stupidly in love.

It’s hard to believe there exists a kind of love that’s able to bridge distances, span galaxies. Travel from solar system to solar system, planet to planet. In another world, another life, Shiro might have believed it. That _that_ kind of love only belonged to a summertime romance song.

But it is neither another world nor another life, contrary to what one might think. The universe may be vast, but it is still home to Earth. Shiro may no longer be a Garrison instructor, fresh-eyed and raven-haired, but he _was,_  seemingly eons ago. So there’s the past and the present. And even after all this time, Shiro still sees Adam in his future.

He’s always there in Shiro’s dreams, by the way. Everywhere - on beaches, in gardens, on moons. Freckled, warm-skinned, dusty-haired, and coy-mouthed. Never still, never silent. Always, always moving. Pilot. Cartographer. Fighter. Owner of a soul.

His soul - Shiro’s soul.

They’re on the planet Acuanesia when Shiro catches a flash of Adam for the first time in ages: a sand-toned figure, lonely, desolate, bent over a bed of alien rose-orange blossoms. Sunblooms. Sunset petals. And it’s the scent, Shiro knows deep in his heart, that’s warping his senses, his mind.

Still, it does not stop Shiro from reaching out.

His fingers pass through smoke.

 

☆☽

 

Sometimes, when the castleship is quiet, and everyone else is asleep, Shiro looks out the vast windows and thinks of home.

Earth, and its single sun, and single moon. Earth, and all its rivers, oceans, mountains.

Earth, and all the way he misses its warmth.

Earth, and all the ways he misses Adam.

 

☆☽

 

The eyes - the colour of dark, dripping bronze - are what comes to mind first. Then the mouth, and the hands, and the brown-toned skin - specifically, the curved expanse of flesh where neck gives way to shoulder.

And then lastly the voice, whispering the sweetest melody into Shiro’s ear: “Takashi, I love you, I love you.”

It’s one of his fondest memories - walking along one of the many canyons in El Paso, Texas. The sun burning red-hot against their faces, and their fingers sweat-sticky where they were interlaced. Mile after mile stretched reddish-gold sand, dotted with cacti, rocks, and dunes. Hot wind swept over its craggy planes, and Shiro had felt like he could turn lead into gold. Looking back, the memory might as well have been a sun-drenched dream realm, oceanless, moonless, bright in all the places space is infinitely dark.

Adam had never liked the darkness of nighttime, despite the profound, almost melancholic beauty Shiro had once found amongst its stars. That line of thinking belonged to a time long since passed, and that was before Kerberos, before the gladiatorial arenas, before Voltron, before everything. Yes, they were beautiful, but only from afar; on Earth, Shiro had always longed to reach one.

But here, up in space, in the _now_ , he just wants to get away from them all.

It’s strange - and sad - to think how something so beautiful can be so horrifying up close.

Crushed diamonds, jewels of the night, turned into bone-consuming clusters of hydrogen and helium.

 

☆☽

 

A thousand planets, a hundred galaxies, and still no ocean like the one back on Earth.

This one comes close, though - a clear, frothing expanse of deep purple on this gas-giant named Coroscian, so aptly named after its antennaed blue-skinned inhabitants. Located only a few light years away from the most populated galactic outpost they’ve seen in weeks, this planet enjoys frequent visitors and rainfall - and strangely, or _fortunately,_ enough, a lack of Galra soldiers combing through her belly.

It’s a safe-haven, the eye of a storm that has shown no visible signs of receding.

“Alright, sweet! Just what my hot bod needs,” he hears Lance’s voice speak through the comms as they survey the gentle waves. “Sun, sand, ocean. Practically home sweet home. I don’t know if you guys know this, but back at my old place, I used to kill it at surf meets, in case you couldn’t tell from these muscles. I wasn’t called Legendary Lance for nothing.”

The sleek interface of Shiro’s visor glows green, confirming that the planet’s atmosphere is indeed breathable.

Keith lifts his helmet, tucks it beneath one arm. He rolls his eyes, and his mouth curves softly - a fond, intimate gesture whose appearance has become a lot more frequent, as of late. “You used to kill it because you were so legendarily bad? That, I can believe. And muscles, where? With those noodle arms of yours?”

“Noodle, schmoodle, you’re just jealous you don’t have these big guns! Envy isn’t a good look on you, buddy boy. Makes you go all green, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Hate to break it to you, but look around, Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Lance says, flexing a bicep with a grin.

“I don’t need guns when I have a sword.” Keith finds his way to Lance’s side. Their shoulders bump. Their hands graze. “Isn’t that your job, sharpshooter? All that boom boom?”

Lance makes a noise at the back of his throat akin to the sound buzzers make. Somewhere, Pidge marvels over Coroscian technology, Hunk oohing with her, too. Allura picks up a scuttling sea shell. Coran sets up a tent. “Um, wrong! That’s so wrong, Keith, how could you?” Lance says shrilly. “You’re lacking a finale. A denouement. Because with two booms, there’s always a pow. A pow, I’m tellin’ ya.” He mimics a bomb detonation. “Here, repeat after me: boom, boom, POW!”

 _“Pow,”_ Keith intones in a low voice, and Lance lightly shoves at Keith’s chest.

Shiro cracks a smile.

Keith and Lance. _Lance and Keith._ Sharpshooter and samurai. Defenders of the galaxy. Made twilight-purple by the twin setting suns.

Watching them dredges up a memory of an Earthen sunset, Adam’s silhouette sharp against the sky. There, he and Adam are holding hands. There, they are more than in love. There, they don’t believe that the worst can happen.

There’s something so deeply beautiful about Earthen sunsets - the way they spread out slow and steady - that this rapidly unfolding Coroscian one pales in comparison.

Maybe it is just Shiro’s homesickness talking. Maybe it is not.

But looking at this, Keith and Lance framed against the darkening lavender, their pinkies linked, Shiro almost believes that this one is just as beautiful.

 

☆☽

 

“How do you know if it’s something more?” Lance asks him one balmy Loranian afternoon, when they’re sat atop opalescent stones smoother than marble to the touch.

Lance doesn’t need to specify what he means by that. Because Shiro gets it. He knows. He’s known for some time now. Ages, actually. Because all those furtive looks, and accidental brushing of hands - you’d have to be blind not to see it.

“I think you’re already aware of the answer to that,” Shiro says with a gentle smile. “Maybe this isn’t what you want to hear, but whatever your heart is telling you, that’s the advice you should follow.”

The grass is blue-yellow underneath their feet. A sound like a throaty whistle carries overhead - some type of birdlike creature indigenous to this planet.

Lance laughs, “And what if it leads me to like a pit full of vipers? Then what?”, and maybe he means this to come off humour-filled, but it doesn’t, not really.

The thing about wanting is that it is like a serpent from folklore: many-headed, persistent. You cut off one head, it sprouts two more. You try to tamp it down, it’ll come rearing right at you. Wanting doesn’t go away; the more you poke at it, the worse it gets. At some point, you have to decide whether or not to just give up and give in.

Shiro follows the tail-end of Lance’s line of sight. Watches it snag on a certain dark-haired face: dusk-eyed and moon-pale. Keith is listening to one of Hunk’s jokes, and he breaks out into genuine laughter at the end of it.

“It’s not going to, Lance. I can vouch for this one,” Shiro says, and he means it with all his heart.

 

☆☽

 

The war is not yet over, but finally - _finally_ \- they’re going back home. Home, with its hills, and valleys, and rivers. Even without a visual aid, Shiro can see them crystal clear: a line of trees stretching onward, towards some unreachable horizon where the sun breaks out over in a soft spill of white-gold; cities, towns, and villages; glittering spires of glass and steel; smiling people everywhere; snow-capped mountain ranges; scab-kneed children playing by the beach.

Big things, little things. Shiro thinks about them all. And he’ll get to see them very soon.

The knowledge buries itself so deeply into his core, that it enhances the longing tenfold.

The longing for those sleepy starlit nights on the porch, curled up on a rickety wicker chair, listening to cicadas trilling to the moon’s ascent.

The longing for a pair of hands wrapped around his own, the silver of a wedding band warm against his palm, mouth pressed to his forehead.

The longing for a man who once called him home.

 

☆☽

 

Their mode of transportation makes a touchdown on Earthen soil, and there are Garrison troops waiting, to make questions and receive answers. Allura and Coran - as expected - helm the meeting, and Shiro watches Lance dig his fingers into the ground the moment his feet leave the ramp, like it is holy, and he is a worshipper, venerating this sacred plot of land.

It’s rough going, the first few hours. There’s just so much happening, at breakneck speed no less, that it leaves little to no breathing room where you can gather your bearings. At any given moment, Shiro’s being prodded by someone. Questioned, examined, interrogated.

He doesn’t know how much of it’s going on record. But he’s so tired, it’s hard to formulate responses - much less thoughtful, thorough ones.

Thankfully, with Matt’s help, they get a break. Only a few hours, but it’s enough, for the time being; Shiro just wants to rest. Pidge ends up passing out on Hunk’s shoulder, Hunk on Lance’s, and Lance on Keith’s. Shiro almost passes out, too, on the space opposite them, but instead his feet take him outside, where the dawn is starting to rise.

A single sun. Blue, pink, orange. Gilded, puffy clouds, whipped like cream. He never thought he’d see this sky again.

Just as he is about to head back, there comes a voice - a voice calling out his name. Takashi. Takashi.

_Takashi!_

That effectively breaks him out of his spell.

Their eyes meet, across the grounds, across the universe, and Shiro’s heart is pounding so hard beneath his ribcage that he’s sure he must be in a dream realm, sure he’s only seeing an illusion, until a pair of arms wraps around his waist, and a chin tucks itself on his shoulder.

“I missed you so goddamn much, Takashi,” Adam sobs into his neck, fingers bunching into his shirt, into the hollows beneath his shoulder blades. “You’ve been gone for so long. I thought - I thought -”

“Ssh, I’m here now,” Shiro says softly, tenderly, and there are tears gathered in his eyes, too, and this time he doesn’t stop them; he lets them roll down his cheeks, his neck, soaking into Adam’s collar.

For a moment, they stand there, backlit by morning, and then they are moving, going, gone. Gone somewhere not very far away.

A haunt he’s kept under lock and key, too painful to revisit. But now that it’s here, and they have a full view of the landscape - the bronzeness of the desert, its neverending skyline and dunes, and the soft beauty of the sunrise - Shiro allows himself to take it all in. Every square inch.

Adam cups his cheek, thumb brushing over the scar splayed on his face, ring finger glinting in the pale sunlight, and Shiro says, with no small amount of wonder, “You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Always,” Adam whispers, eyes bright, eyes wide. “I was _always_ waiting for you to come back home, Takashi. To _me, to me._ ”

They never really gave up on each other. But maybe they would’ve stayed apart. Maybe all of Adam Shiro would have left was Dream-Adam in the dream realm, made of smoke and shadows, unreachable. Forever surrounded by the parched gardens of what-could-have-beens. Bones, and rotting things. But they’re back together, now, and that is all that matters.

They had their once upon a time, in a lifetime long, long ago.

“God, marry me,” Shiro says, and Adam kisses him full on the mouth.

Now this is their happily ever after.

 

_fin._

 

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh confession time, im like a super casual fan of vld so my knowledge of canon is, uh, haha, wonky at best (bcs i never rlly paid attention to the plot) + also im Very Intimidated by this fandom so pls b gentle with me??? idk hopefully this is okay enough *hides under rock*


End file.
